


i don't need the words, i want the sound

by Syster



Series: the dom!youngjae agenda [2]
Category: GOT7
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, M/M, Shibari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28660857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syster/pseuds/Syster
Summary: Youngjae is writing music, and the song is being difficult. Thank god he has inspiration right in the room with him, all tied up and pretty.or; sometimes Jackson gets a bit too frantic. Youngjae's real good at calming him down.
Relationships: Choi Youngjae/Jackson Wang
Series: the dom!youngjae agenda [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168916
Comments: 12
Kudos: 51





	i don't need the words, i want the sound

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd. yeah i know but would YOU wake a beta up at 3.30 am to read 4k words of kpop smut?
> 
> title is from the sound by carly rae jepsen.

The soft notes ring out and then still against the soundproofed walls as Youngjae coaxes them forward, from the keys and the strings, hesitant because of his foray into the part of the song he has not yet written. He is not Jaebeom, who creates the barebone outline of a song and then fills empty spaces with sound. Youngjae has the rhythm, the feeling, but he starts from the top and works his way down. It’s not worse, it’s just different. A bit more classical, perhaps, but Youngjae has never found the need to disparage the way of the old masters.

But the tentativeness annoys him in an abstract, distant kind of way. He doesn’t _like_ this part of the process, the gentle probing of trying to find the right way forward. The process of slotting new notes together with the old, trying to find rhythm and reason in the sounds and match them with the fledgling original idea kept purposefully unfinished to not stifle its growth. He prefers the next step where he is not trudging an overgrown, unknown path, but instead a path a little more beaten. A path explored enough to ease the way forward, but not enough so to remove the thrill of exploring something unknown. But his preference does not matter. He is not there, yet. Not with this part. He carefully lures out another couple of tones, in a slightly different frequency than before. Better, he thinks. He writes down the change on his sprawling notes.

A muffled gasp, a shift of skin against leather, a soft, reverberating groan. The restless, immaterial noise of someone trying to move, but being unable to.

He sighs, throws a glance at the clock. Barely twenty minutes. Not yet.

As he re-trudges his steps from earlier, he feels another sliver of dissatisfaction settling in his spine, poisoning the tread of his fingers over the keys. The notes come mechanically, not naturally even as he starts from the top, playing through the song that he has. He hums gently along the way to help the vibration settle a bit better against his ear, but still... He frowns, looks down at his hands. For a second, he thinks about scrapping the entire thing.

 _Ah, dramatic much?_ He thinks to himself as he breaks out into a smile, dismissing the thought as easily as it came. A change in the vibrato, perhaps? A tremble on the fourth and seventh stanza?

He plays it through, finds the tremble unsatisfactory but finds the new take on the notes refreshing, so it means that he is getting there, slowly easing his way forward. There is a small noise of distress, and Youngjae realizes that he’s been sitting quietly for a bit too long. He takes a breath, smiles fond and wide, shifts his weight so that the chair creaks a bit.

“I’m sorry, I got a bit too into it,” he says, apologetically, letting the color of his smile stain the words, making them warmer and kinder, “Ah, this song is really being difficult,” he continues, shaking his head. He tuts a bit as he places his fingers back on the ivory keys, lets the verse that is tripping him up flow through him again.

“What do you think, Jackson-hyung?” he asks, turning towards the couch, and the person laying bound on it. Jackson is tied up with red rope, arched onto his knees, calves tied tightly together with his thighs. His cheek rests on the leather surface of the couch, arms tied behind his back with rope rounding both his chest, biceps, and forearms. His tan skin is covered by a thin sheen of sweat, his cock flushed and leaking. Jackson has been trying to spread his legs wide enough to grind against the sofa but instead has just managed to work himself into more of a tizzy, unable to find the friction he seeks.

 _He always does this,_ Youngjae thinks fondly, rising from the piano chair, taking the few steps to the couch to pull Jackson back into the proper position. He places Jackson’s knees tighter together, makes sure not to let his touch linger too long over Jackson’s quivering skin. He carefully slips a finger underneath some of the knots, testing them to see that they are still tight and secure. He hums, pleased, when he finds that they are.

“I always fear that I will have forgotten how to tie you up, when you’ve been gone for a while,” Youngjae murmurs, placing a steadying hand on one of Jackson’s thigh, letting it rest there as Jackson trembles underneath his touch, trussed up too tightly to do anything but shiver, “But that particular fear seems unfounded, hm?” He says, teasingly adding the high lilt of a question to the end of the sentence, even though Jackson can’t answer him. He laughs brightly as Jackson shifts his weight, his fingers clenching and unclenching from where they are tied over his back. 

Ín response, Jackson just whines, the sound muffled around the gag in his mouth, his lips wet from the spit slipping down his chin as he can’t close his mouth to swallow it. _Ah_. He’s so beautiful like this, with his flushed cheeks setting off the deep royal blue of his blindfold, with his golden skin accented by the red silk-braided rope.

Youngjae pats Jackson’s thigh, strokes a thumb over the soft flush of thigh spilling over the tight truss of the rope, preparing to walk back to the piano. But as he removes his hand from Jackson’s skin, Jackson’s entire body jolts, his knees slipping further apart again, spreading him wide and open.

With a sigh, Youngjae shakes his head, puts Jackson back in position again. His hands carry more bite this time around as he uses his nails to pinch punishing little nips over Jackson’s sensitive thighs. When he’s done, he presses one hand against the back of Jackson’s neck, weights his touch so that Jackson's cheek is a bit more flush against the couch’s surface.

“Be still, hyung,” Youngjae says, voice light and firm at the same time. He keeps his hand on Jackson’s neck as Jackson becomes still in increments, his restlessness slipping into quiet as he relaxes under Youngjae’s touch. His thighs still quiver underneath the red silk rope, his hands still clench and fist, his toes curling. They’ve been working on it, being still. But, honestly, while Youngjae believes in a firm hand, he also doesn’t believe in punishing someone for simply being themselves. Jackson is a lively thing. To demand the same kind of stillness from him as Youngjae can get from others would be disingenuous. It would be setting Jackson up for failure, and Youngjae takes no pleasure in watching Jackson fail because Youngjae gave him something impossible to achieve. There is a curve to this, to make Jackson fall into the deep, slow mindset of submission, different from his usual pouty brattiness. Youngjae will uncover it, gently coax Jackson down the path the same way he writes his songs.

And already Jackson-hyung is doing so _good_ , trying to be still, trying to calm his restless shivers into quiet, relaxed submission. He’s been worried over the last couple of days, all frantic movements and sullen willfulness. He knows what he needs. It’s why he asked Youngjae today, and not one of the others.

“Well done, Jackson-hyung.” Youngjae hums, patting the sweaty skin of Jackson’s neck, humming quietly, “Be good for a while longer,” He smiles, leaning forward a bit, tracing his fingers down the rope tied around Jackson’s biceps, “Be _patient_.“

Jackson whines, low and deep in his throat, almost accusatory but mostly in general orneriness which makes Youngjae roll his eyes with a bright chuckle. Jackson stops trying to move his legs, at least, which is something. Youngjae takes note of the weight and pitch of the sound, of the desperation and need lacing through it. Ah, Jackson is fine. Well, then.

Hm. A vibrato, maybe? A shift in rhythm, to break the audience’s expectations? Youngjae walks back to the piano, sits down on the chair. He tries out a new harmony, quietly humming along, imagining Jackson’s low, hoarse baritone interlacing the notes. Better. Not great, but _better_. He whistles a few notes as he goes through the harmony again, plays with the cadence and tone. He deepens it, to match Jackson’s voice but then shakes his head, clicks his pen, and writes a couple of notes down on the sheet. Not too deep. Jackson’s voice should be the focus, not the complement. He tries it out again, reinforces the lighter tone with a deeper sub-note. Better. _Much_ better. It’s still too different from the part that precedes it, but now it is about shifting, moving parts around instead of crafting them from the start. _This_ is the part he likes.

There is a sound, a creak from leather, and Youngjae looks up and over at Jackson, who is lazily moving his hips, legs spread wide once more. Youngjae sighs and walks back over. When Jackson hears the click of Youngjae’s reinforced leather heels against the hardwood floor, his movements stutter to a stop, as though Youngjae would somehow not notice. Unruly thing. Youngjae pinches his nails down on the soft, vulnerable skin of Jackson’s testicles, which makes Jackson’s entire body jerk and flinch, but Youngjae has one hand tight around the complicated, long knot keeping Jackson’s arms bound back, so the flinch barely makes him move.

“What did I tell you about _moving_?” Youngjae tsks, slapping Jackson’s thigh as he forces his knees back shut, “You seem to have forgotten a few things while you’ve been gone, _hyung_ ,” he puts some intonation on the last word, hears Jackson’s low whimper in response, even through the gag.

He pulls on the knot on the side of Jackson’s thighs and calves, tightens it, watches it dig into the soft flesh. Jackson’s shape curves into something sinful, bent over and trussed up, pert ass in the air, the rope forcing his hips and thighs to look broader, making the fat-covered muscle spill over the red lines of rope. Youngjae runs a hand down Jackson’s taint, down over the soft, cum-stained skin of his balls, sweet and hot to the touch. He takes them in hand and massages them leisurely, watching as Jackson starts to tense up, whimpering around the gag. Youngjae keeps going, alternating touch and pressure. He keeps one finger underneath the knot that ties one of Jackson’s thigh and calf together and feels the shivering turn tenser, higher. He feels the twitch of Jackson’s hips and the pulse of heat lacing through his blood through the flush of his skin. And as such, Youngjae stops just as Jackson starts to twitch, as his fingers spread wide in desperation and tension. Jackson moans, and even through the gag, Youngjae can hear the wetness of it.

He pinches Jackson’s thighs as he waits for the tension to bleed out, watches red little bruises bloom over Jackson’s tan skin. He starts again, slicking his fingers with the precum dribbling out of Jackson’s hard, flushed cock. He watches Jackson’s entrance as he works, at the way the tight rim of muscle flutters and clenches around nothing.

Once again, when Jackson starts to tense, Youngjae stops. His touch becoming light and cradling rather than firm. Jackson arches his back and _whines_ , reverberating the sound through his chest, making it sound almost unhindered by the gag. Youngjae can’t help but laugh at the desperation of it. He pulls Jackson back into position, patting his waist as he does so.

“Patience,” Youngjae murmurs, voice warm and bright with mirth. He taps a quick little rhythm of his fingers over Jackson’s hip, over the bruises Youngjae has been pinching into both hips and thighs. He moves his fingers over them, humming along with the sound like a maestro. He grabs the plug from where it lies on the couch. Ah, Youngjae had thought they wouldn’t need it today, but here they are. Thank God he had the humility to not leave it at home, hm? The butt plug is solid steel, curved and weighty, looking almost like something that would come from a doctor’s office. Jackson hates it. He thinks it makes every stir and shift reverberate too clearly, makes his orgasms almost _too_ sharp. This is why it’s good for moments like these, when Jackson is trying to be good but not really getting all the way there.

Jackson clenches as Youngjae slicks his asshole with a dollop of lube, pressing his fingers against the rim, gently coaxing the hole open with the pads of his fingers. He won’t stretch him. He doesn’t need to. This plug is not the biggest one, and its purpose is not to _stretch_. It’s to be weighty and give pressure.

Youngjae pushes the plug inside as he pulls one of Jackson’s buttocks to the side, giving him a clear view. He watches the mushroom-shaped front disappear into Jackson’s tight heat, and when it’s all settled, he threads a finger into the open loop on the end, twists it a couple of times until it’s straight on Jackson’s prostate.

Jackson’s entire body is shuddering, his forehead against the leather of the couch. He is sniffling, the edges of his blindfold a little bit damp. Youngjae pats his ass, giving a sympathetic little smile as he walks back to the piano. He doesn’t sit down this time, but instead leans over the chair to scratch a couple of new ideas onto the paper sheet, scribbling suggestions into the margins. He fits his hands over the keys, plays the new suggestions he’s thought of, discards a few of them as he goes, keeps a couple of others. Finally. He hums appreciatively, smiling down at his hands on the ivory keys, a sight almost more familiar to him than his hands with nothing underneath them. He closes his eyes for a second, lets the music he’s playing echo through him, settle more against his heart than against his brain. Not perfect, but _close_.

Through the music, Youngjae hears a slight staccato of breath. He laughs, sending an amused glance towards Jackson’s quivering shape on the couch.

“If you cum, hyung,” Youngjae says, raising the volume of his voice so that it’s clear and strong over his playing, “We’ll have to start over.”

There is a low garbled sound. A definite _sob_. A lovely little thing, quivering through the air, even muffled. Youngjae shifts his weight, feels his own weighty arousal remind him of its existence. He pauses, taps his fingers against the wooden surface of the piano’s front, and looks over at Jackson, tilting his head.

Jackson’s entire body is trembling underneath and between the stretch of red ropes, his fingers clenching and unclenching. His cock is hard and leaking, bobbing slightly every time Jackson shifts his weight in unsuccessful efforts to get away from the pressure building from the heavyweight plug inside him.

Youngjae’s lips curl into a smile and he goes back to the song, letting a few stanzas of music flow from his hands, no longer focusing on _one_ song, but rather on the act of music itself. He plays along over Jackson’s low, muted sounds, dips in between the muffled moans and gentle sobs, but when Jackson starts to inhale low, panting breaths too quickly, his entire body trembling with the effort, Youngjae stops abruptly and calmly walks over to ease the plug away from its position straight on Jackson’s prostate. It’s still inside him, but for a man on fire, even a slap feels like a relief.

Jackson sags as much as he can — trussed up in his ropes and all — in relief, but from his gagged mouth comes a low, bone-crushingly disappointed sound, the sound almost feral in its unguardedness. He’s trying to speak, words garbled and muffled. Youngjae merely pats his ass, shushing him softly, petting long strokes down the side of Jackson’s chest, over Jackson’s ribs until he calms down a bit, until his breath starts to come in a normal rhythm again.

And then Youngjae shifts the plug back into its previous position, moving his hand so that the heavy weight of the plug’s head rests directly on Jackson’s prostate. Jackson’s entire body tenses, his toes curling from where his calves are bound tight, and Youngjae almost leans up to tickle the soft underside of Jackson’s feet, but stops himself with a shake of his head. Yes, it would be funny, but _focus_. Youngjae watches Jackson squirm, watches his gloriously defined muscles tremble and shift, all strength and power contained and kept in check. His finger is curled inside the loop of the plug and his other hand lies weighted, steadying and solid on Jackson’s ribs as Jackson squirms. He lets go of the plug, but keeps his hands on Jackson’s body, a quiet reminder _I’m here, I’m here, I haven’t left_ as he once again goes through the knots, making sure that blood still flows freely. When he’s done, he pets Jackson’s cheek gently and Jackson’s entire body flinches into his touch.

“Look at you,” Youngjae smiles around the words, “You complain and complain, but then I do this and I couldn’t ask for a better pet,” he pets Jackson’s cheek, slips his fingers around the edges of the gag, wipes a bit of the drool away lovingly, “Headstrong, sure, but that’s part of your charm, isn’t it?” he runs his hand over Jackson’s hair, pets the soft brown tresses as his other hand traces the tears tracks slipping from underneath the blindfold.

Youngjae swallows, tightly, licking his lips as he rubs a hand over his own, distant arousal. It’s starting to settle into his spine, a low, churning heat, all force and power. In acquiescence to his arousal, Youngjae pulls out the gag and chuckles at the string of spit connecting it to Jackson’s open, panting mouth. Ah, _there_ it is.

Jackson’s lovely voice. Low and raspy and absolutely ruined to hoarse perfection. Youngjae keeps his gaze intent on Jackson’s spit-slick pink lips as he reaches behind him, taps a finger against the solid steel of the plug. Jackson’s low, tearful groan vibrates through him, unmuffled and clear without the gag. _A repeated prefix through the second and fourth verse?_ Youngjae thinks, blinking at the sudden burst of inspiration. This time, it is hard to go back to his piano, but while the track isn’t necessarily delayed, they can’t really move forward with choosing the b-sides until it’s done. So it’s preferable that it gets done quickly. As such, Youngjae can’t _ignore_ a burst of inspiration, not even when the reason would be how pretty Jackson sounds when he cries in a mix of arousal, pain, and submission.

Jackson’s low pleading noises accompany him back to the piano. It’s barely words, at least not words in Korean. Youngjae’s not very good with languages, so he can’t identify which one Jackson is speaking, but he knows _music_ , and the timbre of Jackson’s voice is all pleading desperation.

He smiles as he plays out the track again, adding his new idea. Hm. There we go. Almost done. He writes a couple of notes, reminding himself not to be too eager. It’s good, but it’ll have to rest for a while before he can come back to it and work over the things needing to change in order for it to be _perfect_. He looks at Jackson, at Jackson’s flushed skin and trembling muscles, at his cock dribbling cum down onto the leather couch, his mouth open and drooling as he whimpers and begs, his face twisted and splotched red in an unflattering blush. With a burst of laughter and mischief, he matches Jackson’s breath and cadence with a playful little tune on the piano. Each moan accompanied by a low note, each little plea breathed out against the backdrop of a staccato beat.

Beautiful, he thinks, closing his eyes to hear the harmony of his piano and Jackson’s desperate sounds. Oh, how he loves Jackson’s voice. He loves the timbre of it, the rasp that stays underneath the melody even in the higher register. He loves the way Jackson’s vocal cords vibrate around certain notes, making it sound almost unreal in its low, precious baritone.

Jackson is tensing again and Youngjae walks over, shifts the weight of the plug again. Jackson sobs, straight out, that lovely little vibrato sounding like a prayer over the syllables of his names,

“ _Youngjae_ — ah —” Jackson mouth works, trying to find enough traction to get the words out, “Ah, I —”

“What do you want, hyung?” Youngjae says, tracing the edges of rope gently before resting his hand right over Jackson’s taint, his fingers curving over the sweet swell of Jackson’s balls.

“ _Please_ ,” Jackson pleads, voice broken and wet, “Please, Youngjae-ah, it — I _tried_ —”

“I know,” Youngjae shushes soothingly, “I know, you’ve been trying so hard to be good.” He runs a finger over Jackson’s hole, over the fluttering, pink rim of muscle around the curiously thin shaft of the plug, especially since he knows the size and weight of its head. He hums as he just... touches, moves the pads of his fingers over Jackson’s quivering hole. 

“I - I’m sorry, I —”

“You’re not,” Youngjae laughs, voice bright, chuckling still as he continues, “But that’s okay. That’s _you_. But I couldn’t just let it go, could I?” 

“Please —”

“Answer me, hyung,” Youngjae tsks, tapping his fingers in reproach over Jackson’s entrance.

“Ah —” Jackson whimpers as Youngjae digs his fingers into the soft flesh of his thighs, “— _no_.”

“Good boy,” Youngjae praises, easing his touch into a gentle caress, “I’m proud of you for taking it so well, hyung.”

“Youngjae-ah —”

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Youngjae says, playing at calm even as his arousal burns hot through his blood. He unbuttons his trousers and at the sound of his zipper being pulled down, Jackson trembles, “If you can keep from coming, I’ll let you cum after I’m done. Otherwise, I’ll leave you here until I have to come back in a few hours to rehearse the song again.” Youngjae sighs as he pulls down his boxers enough to release his aching cock. He wraps a hand around the base of its girth to keep it steady, his voice clear as he speaks, “Understood?”

Jackson nods, panting, and when Youngjae pinches his thigh again, he does what Youngjae wants and _talks_.

“Yes, _please_ , yes, yes —” he does a high little sound, a cross between a whimper and a squeal, as Youngjae pulls out the plug and lines himself up, maneuvering Jackson’s limbs so that he fits between them, steadying Jackson’s position by holding onto the ropes, pressing the fat head of his cock against Jackson’s clenching entrance, “— yes, Youngjae-ah, _please_ , I understand —”

Youngjae thrusts into Jackson hard, holding onto the ropes to prevent Jackson from sliding forward. The breath that escapes Jackson at the sudden burn of being stretched, of Youngjae’s cock being a bit too big for him, is as much ecstasy as it is pain. Youngjae bottoms out on the third thrust, pausing for a second to let Jackson’s tight hole get accustomed to the size of him. It’ll be tight, but Jackson went all limp as Youngjae thrust inside, so there is little actual resistance, just the tight, natural squeeze of Jackson’s body. He leans forward, tightens his grip on the ropes to keep Jackson still as he fucks into him again. He laughs breathlessly as he mouths at Jackson’s skin, soon biting his teeth tight into Jackson’s shoulder as he starts to move at a harsh, unforgiving pace.

Jackson moans, low and deep, his muscles twitching instinctively each time Youngjae’s cock enters him a bit too harshly, but other than that, he is nothing but a loose, easy hole for Youngjae to fuck.

Youngjae chuckles, low and deep, as he fucks into Jackson, one hand around the ropes over his back, the other gripping tight on the dip between thigh and hip, playing over the bruises already there as though they were the stained black keys of a piano. Jackson pants, moans, and is so wonderfully, delightfully _pliant_. Oh, it takes time to get here — Youngjae glances at the clock, more than an hour — but when they _do_... Oh, it’s a fucking delight.

Youngjae reaches forward and unknots the blindfold, pulling the fabric away. He wraps his hand in Jackson’s hair, pulls his head back so that Jackson’s unfocused wet gaze is on him. Youngjae thrusts inside and watches Jackson’s eyelashes flutter, his mouth slackening open.

“You’re being so _good_ , hyung,” Youngjae breathes out, “So good and pliant.”

Jackson doesn’t answer, but he makes a low, happy little sound in the back of his throat, breathes it out between the open seam of his pink lips.

“Ah, look at you, being so good,” Youngjae smiles, straightening up a bit, releasing Jackson’s head so that it can fall back against the leather, “Since you’ve been so good, I’ll let you choose. Do you want my cum inside you or over your back?”

It takes a moment for Jackson to find the words, but that’s okay. Youngjae is patient, and Jackson really has been very good.

“Inside,“ Jackson pants out at last, “Inside me, please, Youngjae-ah.”

Youngjae hums in agreement and pushes himself inside Jackson harder. He closes his eyes, loses himself in the harmony of their shared sounds, of Jackson’s breathy whimpers and the slap of skin against skin. He thinks about the music he would play underneath it, if Jackson ever let him record him like this, imagines the beat and rhythm accompanying each lovely sound. He groans, pressing himself flush against Jackson’s ass as he comes. Jackson trembles, his toes curled as he waits for Youngjae to finish, as he moans with the pleasure of being filled with cock and cum. Youngjae takes a breath, lets Jackson feel the weight of his cock still inside him. Youngjae wraps his fingers around Jackson’s achingly hard cock, and at the touch over his sensitive, hot flesh, Jackson clenches down around Youngjae’s softening cock.

“Well _done_ , hyung. You can come now.”

With a hoarse sob and whimper, Jackson cums. Slowly he crests over the edge, cum spilling out over Youngjae’s hand as he falls into his orgasm like the tide of the ocean, clenching around Youngjae’s cock, tensing straight and curling tighter together all at once. He gives a low, long whine, his baritone vibrating over the high, broken sound.

Ah, Youngjae thinks, smiling against the bite mark he bit into Jackson’s shoulder, flicking out his tongue to catch a drop of blood where he pressed too hard. What a timbre, Youngjae thinks, listening to Jackson falling apart, what a cadence.

But his favorite sound, his absolutely most favorite one, is the one Jackson gives when Youngjae slips his cock out of Jackson. It’s a low, aching sound. Disappointed. Instinctive.

Youngjae hums soothingly as he starts to unknot the ropes, gently massaging every muscle as he goes, knuckling pressure over each burn left behind by the larger knots to get the blood flowing right again. Jackson is still and docile, his eyes fluttering as Youngjae slowly releases his bound limbs, as he gently looks over the bruises left behind by the tight ropes. Now, it’s merely red. But tomorrow, it’ll be a cascade of beautiful patterns, Jackson’s body bruised blue and purple in the shape of Youngjae’s red rope. Ah. He can’t wait for the others to see the glimpses of it, to see the curl of Youngjae’s handiwork over Jackson’s beautiful skin.

Jackson looks back at him, blinking lazily like a cat, his expression undone and blissed out. Youngjae smiles, leans forward to pet Jackson’s hair, chuckling at the way Jackson leans into his touch, eyes falling shut completely as he makes a low sound of satisfaction deep in his throat. 

“You did good, hyung,” Youngjae says, bending forward to kiss Jackson’s shoulder, his heart pleased and content in the aftermath of having been obeyed, “You did so very good.”

**Author's Note:**

> ... yeah.
> 
> so.
> 
> i've been wanting to write jackjae for ages but couldn't find the right premise. and then, i kinda started to vibe with youngjae's brand of bde.
> 
> that brand? being a hard dom.
> 
> well. honestly. this was fun.
> 
> i know nothing about pianos. or music, really. i read faust by tomas mann once and basically all i know about music theory is from the unhinged passages in that work, so...
> 
> i know who i am so i am not above shamelessly asking for comments. i thrive on validation, so... please?
> 
> If you wanna hang out and read prompt fills or little updates of my stories, please follow me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/syster19) If you want to ask me questions about something, ask me on [CuriousCat!](https://curiouscat.qa/Syster19)


End file.
